A Meeting of Foes
by Libertas
Summary: My first Draco/Herm fic. Basically, a short story about newfound love which was never meant to last. Rating G because there's no violence or language whatsoever. Enjoy...!


**A Meeting of Foes**

**A/N :** This is the short Draco/Herm fic. It's a bit long, so pour yourself a nice hot cocoa and take your time. It's a one-chapter story. Don't expect any more. And don't flame me just because you don't find the story very satisfying. Constructive criticism, people! I suppose you CAN send a flame, if you really have to, though. Review, and I *might* write more Draco/Herm fics. I had a nice time writing this time, I have to admit. TTFN! ^_____^

The door closed silently behind her, and she looked at the shelves of books towering before her. It was a middle-aged witch in her thirties who had walked in; a prim and neat woman with curly brown hair and dark eyes that twinkled with a sort of youthful mischief despite all her other strict appearances. She breathed in the musty smell of old parchment, nearly choked, then walked up to the shopkeeper standing behind a counter in between two bookcases.

            This extremely wrinkled old wizard, with sharp beady eyes and greyish thin, chapped lips, had gotten the new job several months ago. When asked why the manager had decided to employ a shopkeeper so suddenly – having managed the job himself before, with the aid of his faithful assistant – he wearily muttered something about a new stock of _The Haggard Book of Hags_ running off to join their comrades in Knockturn Alley.

            'Good morning,' she addressed the shopkeeper cheerily. In response, the old bloke gave her a piercing stare, and a somewhat forced grim smile that told her that she was less than welcome there. But then, Mr Samuel Stortlesworth the Sinister Shopkeeper was never too happy with customers that simply walked into Flourish and Blotts to read several thick copies of spellbooks and then left hours later without purchasing anything.

            Miss Hermione Granger – for that was the woman's name – was that sort of customer, and a quite regular one at that. She dropped by the old dusty bookstore every Wednesday and Friday mornings during the summer, and any other holidays when she was not teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was Mr Stortlesworth's deepest longing to kick her out of the shop just once, but he did not have the right to. The manager believed in the policy that The Customer Is Always Right, so any form of harassment towards anyone who stepped into the very floor of Flourish and Blotts was unacceptable and disgraceful. 

Her bottle green robes swished behind her as she looked through the shelves of books, going around the whole shop twice before stopping at one shelf to look at the books more closely. Whether it was a vain attempt to lose the shopkeeper's cold beady eyes, or a quest to find the perfect book to read during this Wednesday's little reading session, she herself wasn't sure. 

Finally, she took out a bulky brown leather volume. _Advanced Transfiguration For The Advanced_ was etched on its cover in gold writing. She bit her lip and began looking through it. The book was exceedingly thick and the words in it were exceedingly tiny, but she was leafing through it as though it were a simple step-by-step recipe for frying an egg.

            She fingered her wand longingly, obviously itching to try out one of the complicated spells, but the old shopkeeper was keeping a close glaring eye on her. From the way he was acting, you would think that he expected her to stuff some books under her cloak and run out of the shop like some Muggle bank robber. 

            Trying her best to ignore the old wizard's piercing glare, she put back _Advanced Transfiguration For The Advanced_ into the shelf, disappointed that she already knew most of the spells in it. She took out _From Men To Mice : A Guide To Animagi_ next, even though the book didn't look remotely interesting to her, what with its less-than-impressive thickness and large print and big colourful diagrams that took up most of the space in the book. However, she needed the full list of famous Animagi for her next Transfiguration class, and the book seemed to be a pretty reliable source; she remembered most of them by heart, of course, but she might have forgotten one or two wizards and it never hurt to double-check. 

            As she was absent-mindedly reading about how a wizard turned himself into an ant and met his death by getting accidentally stepped on (Timothy the Tiny, 1891-1942), a middle-aged wizard with a pale complexion and short silvery blond hair opened the door and walked into the store. His blue-grey eyes were cold and mysterious, like grey pools filled with icy water of unknown depth. 

            This man's name was Draco Malfoy, whose father, Lucius Malfoy, had died most mysteriously when Draco was seventeen. The lad had spent the next few years of his life with a mother who had gone quiet, but now that he was grown-up and married, he was glad and relieved to be able to leave the deathly atmosphere of the Malfoy Manor at last. He did not know what had happened to his mother since he moved out, and could not be bothered to find out. 

            'Pardon me,' he said, in a deep but soft drawl, when he accidentally knocked into a rather attractive brown-haired witch whom he didn't know. She looked up at him and her eyes lingered on him for a while. For a second, he wondered why she was looking at him like that, but dismissed the thought immediately. People who saw him – bystanders, shopkeepers, even his friends – always frowned upon his cold expression. He could not help looking like that; he felt as though he had been born with it.

            Yet the witch was looking at him still. Not really with shock that anyone could look so mean – and she was definitely not staring at him just because he looked handsome, but more with curiosity. The moment she saw him, she had a fleeting feeling of déjà vu. She knew – she just knew – that she had seen this wizard before. And then it dawned upon her…there was no mistaking that silvery blond hair and that long drawling voice…

            'Draco Malfoy!'

            He jumped. It suddenly felt like he was back in school, back in Hogwarts, and a teacher was screaming at him for being out of bed and roaming around the school at midnight. He felt it for less than two seconds though, and very soon the scene of Flourish and Blotts materialized once more before his eyes. 

            'What is it? And how did you know my name?'

            Surprisingly, the witch let out a chuckle. '_How did I know your name?_ Don't you remember me, the know-it-all Muggle-born?' she asked, giggling more than ever.

            He had seldom been laughed at all his life, and his insides squirmed, as though telling him that this was not meant to happen. And then he remembered. The Mudblood, the bossy, all-knowing teacher's pet – the one and only Hermione Granger, with her bushy brown hair and large front teeth. And for a second there, he had actually found her quite attractive.

            'I – I didn't recognise you!' he stuttered, then frowned at himself. As a policy, he _never_ stuttered. Not once, not ever. And he had just, positively and definitely, stuttered while talking to an old Muggle-born schoolmate. There was nothing special about her whatsoever. _What was wrong with him?_ 'You've changed so much,' he added quickly, in a would-be calm, manly voice. 

            'I take that as a compliment,' Hermione smiled, making her look even pretti – he almost slapped himself for thinking that. True, he might not feel the same way towards Muggle-borns as he did when he was in school, but there was no reason to be attracted to one so foolishly. 

            'So what are you doing here? Never knew you have interest in Transfiguration.'

            'I don't,' he answered promptly. He took out a thick paperback book from the shelf and showed it to her. _A Complete Guide to Dark Curses_ was written clearly on its front. He couldn't help but smile mischievously as he thought of the brilliant plan that had come to his mind the previous day.

            Hermione was simply astounded. She had grown generally more outgoing than she was before she went to Hogwarts more than twenty years ago, but she still couldn't stand the sight of something being so terribly out of place. 'But – but that's _Defense Against the Dark Arts_! And – and this is the _Transfiguration_ section!' she sputtered. Then she saw Malfoy's sneaky grin.

            'I saw this book yesterday, found it interesting, but didn't have the money to buy it,' he confessed. 'I – um – misplaced my wallet. And it's the only copy left in the entire bookstore. So I planted it _here_, since no one would come looking for it if it's hidden within hundreds of all this Transfiguration…junk.' Hermione couldn't help but frown at the last bit, but dismissed it.

            'Aah…a stroke of brilliance I would never have expected to come from you,' she teased. 'And losing your wallet…tut tut. If Lucius Malfoy lived to know that his own _son_ didn't have enough money to buy a _book_…'

            She had expected him to laugh, or at least smile good-naturedly at this – he didn't seem quite as dislikable and bad-tempered as before – but his expression turned grim and even colder than before. She knew that she had said the wrong thing then. For some reason, she found herself feeling _concerned_ about him, and she was surprised at herself. Twenty years ago, she wouldn't have cared less if he fell off a cliff and then found an angry Manticore at the cliff-bottom. Now, she was desperate to take back what she had just said and comfort him.

            'Your father – I didn't mean – you know – I'm sorry,' she said, although she knew that nothing she said would make him forget what she had just said two seconds ago.

            'It's all right.'

            Hermione blinked. 'Sorry?'

            'I said it's all right. I never really liked him all that much anyway.'

            The truth was very much the opposite, for even if his father had tortured him and thrown him into a dungeon, he knew that he could never hate his own father. He could never love him, either, but there was no way he could ever hate him. But he thought he couldn't bear seeing Hermione look so worried – her eyebrows creased, her face pulled into a tight expression. Then he wondered why he even cared.

            Was it – did he – _no_, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Could it?

            'But your expression – you looked so upset –' Hermione's voice interrupted his train of thoughts. 

            'It just…_hurts_ to remember the past,' he lied, partly anyway. It was true that remembering what had happened was painful, but it wasn't the reason why his expression had changed. 

At this, Hermione looked relieved. He decided that it was time to change the subject. 'So how are things? Where are you working?'

'Hogwarts,' she replied fondly. 'Memories just come flooding back every time I go back to that place on September the first. All the things I've gone through with my best friends…' She thought about her adventures with Ron and Harry, but decided it best not to mention them. 'I'm working as McGonagall's assistant now. She's getting on in years, so she needs a person she can trust to help her every now and then.'

'What, she hasn't retired yet?'

'No. She's a bit like Professor Binns – you remember that ghost who taught History of Magic?' – Malfoy nodded – 'She can be rather stubborn when she wants to, if you ask me. Dumbledore keeps telling her to just let it go, to let me take the full job instead, but she just wouldn't listen. It's like trying to convince Mad-Eye Moody that the goblet of pumpkin juice in front of him isn't poisoned.'

As he listened to her talk about Hogwarts as it was now, he had flashbacks – flashbacks of his years at Hogwarts, and suddenly he felt a deep aching in his stomach. He felt _homesick_. He longed to go back to those times.

'So what about you? You _are_ working, right? Not just living off your inherited wealth…'

He smiled despite himself. 'Yes, I _am_ working, Miss Granger," he said acidly. "For your information, I left all my inheritance to my relatives. I took none of it. I promised myself that I would earn my own living, and I have been doing well, I'm proud to say.'

She decided to play along with him and put on a shocked expression on her face. '_Why_, Mr Malfoy…I would _never_ have imagined…never in _all my life_…' she cooed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

He laughed out at this, and she did too. They started teasing each other even more, and very soon they were both overcome in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. The shopkeeper eyed them with suspicion and despise, while the other people in the bookshop stared at them, looking nonplussed.

Hermione soon became well aware of the pairs of eyes on her and Malfoy, and forced herself to stop laughing. She lay a hand on his shoulder, signalling him to stop as well, and at the same time flashing apologetic looks at the other people in the shop (except the shopkeeper). 

"So…_seriously_, what are you working as?"

Surprisingly, Malfoy _blushed_. She had never seen him do so before, and now that she was seeing the whole effect take place, she almost burst out chortling. His pale skin made the bright pink patches show very eminently, and the pink even reached his ears.

"I'm a Ministry wizard – Department for the Defence of Muggle Rights. And _don't laugh_." He said this extremely quickly, then immediately fixed his eyes on her in a taunting glare, as though daring her to even smile. 

Hermione was trying hard to fight off a fit of laughter once more. Malfoy, who had scoffed at possibly every Muggle-born at Hogwarts years ago, especially herself, _defending Muggle rights_? What irony! She could hardly believe it. She struggled to keep her mouth shut, clamping it tightly until she managed to regain her composure.

'So – so what does your lot do, really? Do you run around stopping people who are abusing Muggles, or what?' she asked innocently as one hand flew up to her mouth to conceal her grin. 

'It's mostly paperwork, really,' he answered, sounding almost disappointed. 'We work alongside the Department of Wizarding Secrecy a lot. They like to come up with new ways to conceal our world – making half the Muggles disappear from England and turn up later in the other side of the world, and other, much more, brutal things that I shouldn't mention. Basically we just stop them when they've gone too far. And we help them send out warnings to any wizard or witch – underage or not – that displays any form of magic in front of Muggles. It's not quite as exciting as what the other Departments do, but it's the best I can get.' He shrugged carelessly.  

Hermione nodded along, thinking about what he said; _it's the best I can get_. She had half-expected him to be holding the top job in a decent Department, like the Department of Magical Games and Sports perhaps, or even being second-in-command next to the Minister. She hadn't expected him to have difficulty finding a job that he really liked. 

For a moment there was an odd silence between them. The small sounds of pages being flipped and people chattering filled the bookshop. Mr Stortlesworth was scratching his quill noisily on a piece of old yellowing parchment. 

'Well… I'd better be going, then,' Draco said rather uncomfortably. 'See you around.' He made his way to the shopkeeper hurriedly to purchase his book. He wondered why he was feeling so edgy. He felt as though there was something he wanted to dislodge from somewhere in his throat. 

He looked back from the counter to see the auburn-haired witch smiling back, showing her perfect rows of pearly white teeth. She looked almost uneasy, and he wondered if she was feeling the same way. He quickly shook the thought out of his mind, and fumbled around in his cloak pocket for several silver Sickles to pay for his book.

'Thank you, come again,' the shopkeeper muttered monotonously as he shoved three Knuts back for the change. He pocketed the bronze coins and they began to jingle as he walked towards the exit. Then – 

'_Wait_!'

Hermione had run up to Malfoy before she realized what she was doing. He turned to look at her, looking puzzled but expectant at the same time. She wondered why she had called him, wondered what she had wanted to say. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead. Everybody in the bookshop was staring at them now. 

'No – nothing.' 

She thought she saw Malfoy's face fall, but she must have imagined it. She walked back towards the bookshelf and buried her face once again in _From Men To Mice_. She could feel heat in her cheeks, knew how red she looked, and buried her face even deeper. Everybody else seemed to shrug off what had happened, and went back to reading and chattering. The shopkeeper's quill began scratching against the parchment once more. 

She wondered idly what had empowered her to act so stupidly. Was she – was it possible? No, it couldn't be. Could it?

She shook her head to herself. She couldn't be. She was, or at least as far as she knew, thoroughly content with fiancé, Ron Weasley. They had been dating since they were sixteen or so. He loved her, and she loved him in return. Both their careers had kept them from marrying at a younger age, but he had just proposed to her a few weeks ago, something that made her feel simply over the moon. And yet, just now, she thought that her heart had just opened up a bit more to accept another man into it. 

She shuddered. _No_, she told herself firmly, and tried to concentrate on the book in front of her. Yes, the Malfoy that she just met was certainly handsome – her face burned at the thought – and yes, he did seem to have changed. He was much more likeable and friendlier, easier to talk to and joke with. She buried her face in the book deeper still. 

Draco stood at the doorway, and froze, much to the annoyance of several people behind him. He didn't know what he was feeling, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. Why was he so mixed up? He had a beautiful wife, and they lived blissfully in a jolly little cottage out in the country with a bright and handsome four-year-old son. He had a good job; he didn't exactly have to struggle to make ends meet. He didn't think his life could possibly get any better, until he met Granger on that fateful day. 

He knew better than to break his marriage vows, and quickly drove the thought out of his mind. There was no turning back time. This was the situation he was in. He liked Granger much more than he wanted to, but he would have to stop himself. Not more than friends, that was the way it should be – not more than mere acquaintances. He gripped the book in his hand, his face resolute, and made his move.

_Not more than newfound friends_.

Hermione kept those words in her mind as she scanned through the book. She quickly found the list she needed, and began reading it over, trying to memorise it.

'Hey, Granger!'

Hermione turned around. It was Malfoy. Mr Stortlesworth looked up to throw him a look of dislike and annoyance, and she had a bad feeling that Malfoy had gone up a few places in the shopkeeper's Hate List. 

'Hello again,' she said, putting on a what she hoped was a casual expression.

'Listen… do you fancy going to The Three Broomsticks with me? It's on me. We can, you know, talk.'

'About…?' Hermione asked stupidly. She almost slapped herself.

'Oh, you know, things. About Hogwarts, about our lives…'

'All right. Wait while I pay for this.'

She walked up to the counter to make her first-ever purchase in possibly more than a decade. Mr Stortlesworth glanced up at her in mild surprise and suspicion, but nevertheless gave her the right change and muttered 'Have a nice day' in his usual monotonous tone. She and Malfoy then walked out of the store, already talking away spiritedly about their school years, about their families and their future plans. 

_Not more than friends_, Hermione kept reminding her self. _Good friends, but no more than that_. Little did she know that Malfoy was thinking the exact same thing. 


End file.
